


and so it ends

by carol_danvers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carol_danvers/pseuds/carol_danvers
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS AHEAD-Bucky knows that they have to say goodbye.





	and so it ends

Bucky watches as Steve steps onto the platform, and he knows that Steve's not coming back.

Bruce says that it'll only be five seconds. No big deal. Sam nods, because he is so much more trusting than Bucky is.

But Bucky knows Steve better. 70 years might have separated them, but Bucky still knew Steve, still understood him. Reading Steve's mind was like an old card trick, one that Bucky had practiced over and over again until he could get it perfect. Steve hadn't had to tell him.

He did, of course, because Steve was good like that. He was good and pure and kind and Bucky didn't deserve him in any lifetime. So they talked about it. Steve was going to bring the stones back, put them in the right places, and then-- then he was just going to stay.

1970\. Peggy Carter is Director of SHIELD. Peggy-- the love of Steve's life. There was never any competing with that, and Bucky knew it.

What they had shared, what they had secreted away back in the 30s was gone now. The beds pushed together in the wintertime, pretending that Steve was too cold at night. The hands brushing against each other, when they were just walking too close together. The kisses they had taken with their eyes closed, because it was harmless when they were drunk off their asses.

All of that was gone, Bucky knew.

They had exchanged their promises when Steve broke into Azzano, but that was just a memory. Sometimes Bucky wasn't sure if it had even been real or if he made it up in some haze of delirium. They had gotten back to base camp and Steve had taken him to his tent, sat him down on the bedroll with his legs crossed, and Bucky was so sure that this new Steve was going to hit him like everyone he had met recently had.

But Steve kissed him so gently that Bucky was melting and that - that was how he knew that he was finally safe. Curled up in Steve's arms was as safe as a soldier could be in wartime.

All of that was gone, Bucky knew. It had disappeared somewhere in the mountains, between cliffs and snow and train cars.

Those promises (I love you ‘till the end of the line, I'll never let you go) didn't last. And Bucky didn't blame Steve for it, because neither of the people who made those promises lasted either. Times had changed, and that was okay.

Bucky was relearning this world, relearning who he was. He kind of liked it. There was medicine and movies and the best of all of it was that - that -

That love wasn't a sin anymore. Bucky spent months unlearning that it was. Learning he could kiss a boy, could hold hands with one. Learning he could smile at a man in a bar without starting a fight. Learning he could wear mascara and flirt with the boy in Wakanda who sells him more clothes than he needs.

He didn't have to pray to an unloving God, asking for forgiveness. He could marry Steve, could hold his hand, could run his hands through that hair, could kiss his lips, and it would be okay. It would be safe. Safer than sharing a tent in wartime, and safer than shoving creaky twin bed frames together, and safer than drunken confessions.

But it didn't matter. I love you ‘till the end of the line didn't count for much when the line was a ball of yarn, when it was all scrambled up in different places, when it was twisted and tied and torn.

They still loved each other, Bucky was sure of that. He still wanted to hold Steve's hand, still wanted to kiss him the way they had in the dark in 1932. Steve still looked at him the same way, like there was so much he wanted to say and so much he couldn't have. Bucky wanted to tell him _you can have it now, I'm all yours,_ but he didn't. He didn't want to hurt Steve like that.

They still loved each other, but some part of Steve had always stayed in the past. Bucky had been undone and remade too many times to still be stuck in the past. There were things that they had both lost that Bucky didn't quite know how to want anymore, but Steve wanted them, ached for them, for a dance, for a song, for a kiss.

They still loved each other, and Bucky was sure that they always would. But he would be selfish to tell Steve to choose him over the world.

Steve had made that choice too many times, and Bucky was grateful for it, but Steve shouldn't have to make that choice. Thanos was gone and the world was safe. It was time for other heroes to take over. There were no aliens in the 1970s, and if there was a time Bucky had to lose Steve to, it would damn well be a safe one.

Bucky wanted to give Steve the world, and if the world Steve wanted was Peggy Carter, then that was okay.

Steve and Bucky had been in love once, and maybe they still were in love. But they belonged to different worlds. Bucky belonged to a future where he could love Steve Rogers. Steve belonged to a past where he could rest.

So Steve tells Bucky he's thinking of staying there, in 1970, and Bucky gives him his blessing. (that was all Steve was really waiting for, anyways.)

Sam gives Bucky a small nod, crossing his arms. They watch as Steve clicks a button and his helmet slides on. Bruce presses something on his board and that is all.

Steve Rogers slips out of his fingers, and Bucky lets him go.


End file.
